


brain-fog

by serpentheir



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Gen, JD is not okay, Trans Jason "J. D." Dean, angst angst angst, basically jd is dissociating the whole time, implied jdonica, some random bits of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentheir/pseuds/serpentheir
Summary: Detention was about as new as demolition for JD. Ten high schools, ten states, and all of them seemed to have identically bland conference rooms with a long table, ten chairs, and a smattering of depressed students pretending to write for their English teachers, waiting for the bell to let them out at 3:30.(JD dissociates and hallucinates for an hour in detention, warning for gore, JD is trans in the tags although it's not explicitly stated I write him as being trans b/c I'm trans)





	brain-fog

Detention was about as new as demolition for JD. Ten high schools, ten states, and all of them seemed to have identically bland conference rooms with a long table, ten chairs, and a smattering of depressed students pretending to write for their English teachers, waiting for the bell to let them out at 3:30.

He spent the first ten minutes considering every single way to inflict a detention-related injury. Shoving things in the pencil sharpener, throwing chairs, slamming hands in doors, and the like. The most promising option seemed to be filling the sink with water, turning on the Keurig, and throwing the coffeemaker into it, but neither of the other students in the room really deserved it.

He had more sympathy for them than he did for most students; they were obviously disillusioned with school and struggling with their own loads of shit. _Not as much as I am_ , he thought against his better instincts. It was impossible to avoid turning suffering into a competition after what he went through on a daily basis, but his introversion prevented him from really doing anything about it. He briefly considered screaming or running out of the room with a self-inflicted nosebleed, but the damn introversion got in the way. It kept him from doing most of the out-of-line things his brain suggested, for better or worse, but it didn't keep the thoughts from coming, and since it couldn't, he was subjected daily to the compulsion to drive a thumbtack through his hand, to bring his father's thermals into school and set them off before screeching away down the driveway en route to New York.

Everything about his school made him want to vomit, made his intrusive thoughts worse. Physics class is difficult enough without picturing intestines pooling on the ground, or blood spurting out of a classmate's neck and -- fuck, did he finally snap -- no, it wasn't real.

Nothing was real.

If he could keep those thoughts going, it would be easy enough to make it to 3:30 without a struggle. He could bear gory hallucinations and derisive boredom for another half-hour as long as it didn't seem too real.

He blinked once and Heather was dead on the table in front of him, there were bugs crawling out of her mouth and her eyes were foggy. She was dead and fucking buried. She was dead, she wasn't coming back, it wasn't real.

He blinked again and it was Veronica, strangled, he could tell by the greying bruised remnants of rope around her neck. Her hands didn't look warm anymore. They had been so warm. Fit perfectly with his. This Veronica's hands were marbling, covering her ashy skin with what appeared to be a rash. She was taking on the pallor of the sweat-stained office chairs, she had become part of the room, she was after him. He heard her crying again. She was crying, she wanted him to leave, she wouldn't let him leave. He shoved his chair back, choking on his breath, and felt the others’ eyes shift up, but they couldn't see her. They couldn't see it. They didn't know that Westerburg had taken Veronica. It was going to take all of them if they didn't get out of there, it would devour them and keep them there forever. He felt it again, felt like he was going to vomit. Twenty-four minutes left.

His hands were shaking and something was rising in his throat. His hands were shaking and this was not the place to have a panic attack. Something was pushing on his ribs, on his lungs, more than usual, he was going to scream he had to get out this wasn't real this room wasn't real the students were watching him. There must be cameras. He had to find them. Maybe the air vent. Maybe the speaker. Maybe the clock. What the fuck was that on the wall -- it's not a thermostat -- someone was fucking watching him. Twenty-one minutes left.

The door was open. The door was open but he couldn't get out, he couldn't leave. If he tried to leave they would ask him questions and he would vomit or start crying. Twenty.

The chair kept his legs from shaking but it couldn't keep him from staring off into the distance and spacing out or hallucinating. He knew what would happen if he told anyone how scared he was. They wouldn't know what happened they would think he was joking. It's not funny. He knows. They can't see the blood seeping out of their necks. They can't see the gash opening in their stomach, or the organs slipping through, or the intestines falling out he could see their expressions. _This is what happens to people I care about. This is why I leave. I can't keep my brain from hurting them. I can't stop seeing it. I deserve this._

Ten minutes.

He felt hands on his own trying to keep him from writing but they weren't warm. He wouldn't let someone push him down again. Not this time. Something rose in his throat again and he remembered Veronica, remembered how everyone would end up like her. He would terrify everyone, they would leave, and he would see them everywhere. They would knock on his window at night and breathe frost into his mouth until he woke up and coughed the liquid out of his lungs.

Eight minutes. 

They let him out early. He was still shaking.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! leave a comment if you'd like me to write more heathers -- I love writing JD but I can't tell if anyone even reads heathers fic.
> 
> find me on tumblr at @themightyserpentprince!


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